


Stormy Seas and Black Sails

by AislinnWulfgar



Category: Black Sails Season 2
Genre: F/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinnWulfgar/pseuds/AislinnWulfgar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleanor is in London following her betrayal in Nassau. She is waiting for fate to determine her next course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stormy Seas and Black Sails

Well, there must be a way, mused the pensive young woman in her filthy gaol cell. She unpinned her dirty hair and tried to finger comb the snarls. Her once glorious golden mane was a greasy, matted mop that was hopeless to manage. She unhooked the tight leather vest and removed her simple peasant gown. This was the only clothing she was allotted, the same dress she had worn at the time of her abduction in Nassau. It was now reduced to rags. Her skin bore none of the healthy glow from hours spent free in the warm sunshine of the island. On the few occasions she was allowed a basin of cold water and a lump of lye soap, the skin she uncovered was translucent. She may have lost the glorious hair and peachy tan skin, but she had lost none of her willowy frame. Her stomach was still flat and her waist still trim. Slim hips gave way to long legs and dainty ankles. Her breasts were high and firm and tipped with soft pink crests. She would admire herself in the mirror at her home on New Providence Island. Not out of vanity, but rather wondering what set her apart from the whores on the island. She had never used rouge or kohl to enhance her beautiful face. Nor did she wear the provocative clothing of the other girls. Still, she had her share of admirers. As she grew from a gangly girl to a voluptuous woman, she learned to ignore the looks from leering men. She also learned how to use her face and body as the virginal angel or enchanting seductress in equal measure. She could beguile and seduce her way around the landowners and pirates alike. Sighing, she shook the memories from her mind and told herself that the simple island life she had enjoyed, was now over. On the morrow, she was to be taken to a quiet place and hung from the neck, until dead. "May the grace of God, grant you His mercy on your eternal soul." The lords of England had passed their judgement and it was to be carried out immediately. The stodgy lords did consent her boon, that she be executed in private and thus sparing her the indignity of public spectacle. She had begged the old piss pots to consider her youth and gender. Swayed by her tears and angelic demuring, the codgers agreed. Doughy lords, their robes straining to cover fat bellies and foolish wigs a top mealy faces, attempting to frighten her. "Bah!" she spat. 

Shaking her head and taking a deep sigh, she thought that all this remembering is not getting me any closer to accomplishing my goal. She wrapped the bedsheet around her firm body, ready to play yet another game. I refuse to go to my damnation with dirty, stinking hair, she thought with a smile. She was used to cleanliness, living in such a warm climate. There were abundant lagoons and secluded pools to take a quick dip in during the heat of the day. Cooling and soothing feverish skin was worth the time out of her hectic day. She had taken to bathing in the evenings. Soft skin sliding across crisp, clean sheets was pure heaven. Perfumed sheets, dried on the line in a sea breeze. She closed her blue eyes at the memory and pang of homesickness crushing her chest and threatening tears to spill. Gone were warm, tropical nights at her island house. It had been an calm paradise compared to the raucous port city of Nassau. Unfortunately, business in town kept her away too often. She would give anything to be there now.

"Why is it so damned difficult to obtain a bathtub," she said aloud. "Certainly, people must bathe here." Eleanor pondered her newest setback; she was not allowed to borrow an imprisoned lords tub. Still, there must be a way. 

She had garnered a bit of sympathy from the unwashed caretakers of the prison she was kept in. She would share stories of sunny New Providence Island and rowdy Nassau to her gaoler and his wife. She would spin yarns to the prison matrons about her lack of tenderness in childhood. She had been an unwanted burden to her father and often neglected. This was largely due to the unfortunate happenstance of her gender. She was left in the care of the household staff, mostly slaves, for weeks and months at a time. She would proclaim the origin of her wild persona on the absence of a mother to gently rear her; curbing her wickedness with love and gentle manners. She would gently dab at her eyes at the painful, lonely memories she conjured. She had played her enraptured audience like a harpsichord to achieve small luxuries and indulgences. However, the luxury of a tub seemed beyond their reach. She confessed her terror of the morn ahead, crying quietly. She was afraid to meet the risen Lord in such a state. "How would he see her innocence through the layers of filth?" Tears flowing now, the gaolers wife grabbed her in a motherly hug, while imploring her husband to procure a tub. Crescendo, she had them. Smothered in the embrace, she was forced to suppress the urge to retch the meager fare that passed as her final repast. The woman stunk worse than she. "How is that even possible", the young woman pondered.

Scant time later, a large tub was brought to her cell, along with slivers of scented soap, clean linens and a gown. Where they found such a large tub in such a short time was just a passing thought; hardly a concern of hers. Her peals of delight lifted the heavy hearts of her devoted flock. "Finally, this innocent young girl facing her darkest hour, had found a small measure of peace, the poor misguided lamb", they thought. She had just one more request, a private moment to wash clean her body and prepare her soul. They agreed and made ready her steaming bath. Her cell had no bars, but rather a solid oak door. Linen coverings were placed over the small window, allowing complete privacy while she bathed. She tested the water with her hand and shivered in delight. "I will finally feel warmth again". She rose from her perch on the bench, dropped the bed sheet and stepped into the tub.

Eleanor Guthrie, formerly of New Providence Island, sunk neck deep into the warm water, suppressing a smug laugh. She lathered a cloth with the scented soap and scrubbed her face several times. When she was satisfied, she wrung the cloth and covered her face, hiding the slight smile playing across her lips. "The gullible pack of bleeding hearts, she thought, they are so easy to manipulate." In her heart of hearts, she had loved her wild upbringing and the freedom to do as she pleased. No one could control her, despite the best efforts of staff. Religion played no role in her life, despite her weekly attendance. Attendance at the island church was simply a conduit needed to navigate the circle of legitimate plantation owners who would normally shun her company. Donating generous funds to the church kept her in the good graces of their circle. However, the teachings of long dead men had never held her interest for very long. In contrast, she was on equal footing with the rough and dangerous men of the port town of Nassau. She was the proprietress of a tavern in the wild bayfront town. She could survey the comings and goings of the town and harbor. It was also where fierce pirate captains came to fence their hauls from recent prizes. Their crews drank in her tavern, while she negotiated with their captain behind the closed office door. This was the world she created and ran with a velvet covered iron fist. She felt on equal footing with thieves and murders, as she did it with the plantation owners from the island's interior. "Well, not entirely true," she muttered to herself. She never was HIS superior. She had never discovered his weakness. Hers, on the other hand, was too plaintive for her liking. Even tonight, the eve of her execution, her thoughts are plagued by him. Captain Charles Vane. She closed her eyes as she recalled Charles; his harsh features, ice cold eyes, and sculpted body. She had cut him deeply on their last meeting. She assisted Captain Flint in obtaining Abigail Asche, the daughter of Peter Asche of Charles Towne. The plan seemed simple enough, but he took it as a slight to part ways with such a gem. Trusting someone, especially Captain Flint, was impossible for him. She betrayed him in an intimate moment, obtained Abigail, escorted the girl through the tunnels and out of the Nassau Fort. Not before he promised to settle things with her. He always collected his debts. Always.

Had she made the right decision? She has questioned it uncountable times. The girl was delivered as agreed. Captain Flint and his companion Mrs. Barlowe departed for the colonies with Abigail in tow, to be reunited with her father. It was then Eleanor's dreams of a legitimate New Providence Island slipped away. Her father was found at the fort, now abandoned, tied to a makeshift crossbar and stabbed through the heart. A letter addressed to her was found on his body. The letter was written by none other than Captain Vane. Charles boldly confirmed he was the murderer. He also confirmed what Eleanor already knew. Her father was not a supporter of a free New Providence Island and his past crimes had caught up with him. He paid his debt to the vengeful pirate. "Bullshit, Charles", Eleanor ground out under her breath. This was the consequence to her decision to back Flint and his endeavour. It wa Eleanor's debt to pay. She had barely understood her father. Just recently having any paternal affection from him. Still, his sudden and violent end cut her deeply. The cut made jagged and bleeding by the identity of the murderer. That, and the reason for his death. Charles always settles his debts. Always.

She had tried to control the fallout left after her father's murder. She tried to forge new alliances and control missions, all to lose control at a critical juncture. Her allies betrayed her, at last. She was sold cheaply, a meager ten letters of the marque, guaranteeing freedom to the named party. Foolish men, making deals for pardons when freedom was already theirs. All they had to do was believe. Now it was all over. Her savior has now become her worst adversary. Charles would not be coming to save her. He would forego the pleasure of killing her himself. It was not worth it. She was going to hang.

Eleanor flushed, remembering the last time they spoke. She had followed him through the caves beneath the fort to the interior room he claimed. Agitated with his refusal to release the girl, she intended to obtain his consent. He spoke with passion and conviction. He did not use his usual brusque manner, but rather gently trying to persuade her to join with him. Charles would never again be a slave to another man. He made his own fortune. This was a different man and his argument had merit, but still, she had to try to convince him. She knew what would happen if she did nothing. Eleanor was just as passionate about the venture. Charles would not be swayed. She knew what had to be done.

 

Eleanor caressed her body beneath the warm water, remembering how Charles had done the same. Too often their lovemaking was a hurried affair. Long denied passion and equally hot tempers set the stage for a hasty coupling. The flame of raw desire ignited, was quickly fanned and then the fire would consume them. Each would fight for dominance, refusing to allow the other complete mastery of their body. The force of a kiss, the strength of a caress and the depth of each thrust were a constant struggle. They were always spent afterwards, but rarely settled. No soft words or gentle caresses; they rarely connected emotionally. No show of weakness would ever be made.

However, their last moments were different, very different. Eleanor recalled how he slowly removed her clothing. Piece by piece and at a maddeningly slow pace. He had loosened her hair and buried his face in the bright locks. He slowly stripped her bare from the waist up. Charles leaned back to look at her face, his eyes blazed with desire and locked with hers. She was unable to look away. She watched his eyes as they took in her beauty. He lowered his mouth to the smooth column of her throat and rained hot kisses down her neck. Charles laved the sensitive hollow of her collarbone with his tongue. The erotic sensation drew a moan from her sweet lips. He moved his lips from her neck to kiss her parted ones. He slipped his tongue into her honeyed mouth, tongue duelling with hers. He slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss, stealing her breath. She tried to increase the depth of the kiss, to set her pace, but he would not give up control.

His hands moved slowly from her shoulders to caress the satiny skin of her back. He kneaded her toned ribcage and slid lower to cup her derriere. Despite holding her through the layers of her skirt, his touch burned. He pulled her close to the heat of his body. His sculpted chest, deeply tanned from a life at sea, felt carved from granite. He smelled of wood smoke, sweat, and brine, a thoroughly masculine combination. His mouth tasted of rum and his skin had the tang of salt. Both the taste and smell of him was an intoxicating mix. Eleanor grabbed his hair in an attempt to hold his wicked, loving mouth pressed firmly against hers. He drew back and looked deep in to her eyes. Steely determination shown in his hot gaze. "Are you so eager, Eleanor, that you want me to rush? I will taste your passion in full measure this night. Make no mistake, it is I am master here.You will not win this fight. I will not be denied," Charles purred against her mouth. With that, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue slipped within to stroke hers. 

Eleanor tensed at his words. He would never be her master! He had no claim on her body. Despite the bruising kiss and the warm feeling in her core, she started to pull away. Charles tightened his grip and continued his searing kiss. Pausing briefly, he murmured "Where are you going, Eleanor? Your time to escape me is long past. I promise you will be satisfied in mind and body before I allow you to leave my presence, Miss Guthrie." His deep, raspy voice was full of promised passion and dangerous obsession.

He left her lips and continued his path down her throat, kissing and using his wicked tongue to create delicious sensations. Feeling hot and cold, she tried to tighten her grip on his hair and force his lips to her hard nipples. Eleanor felt, rather than heard him chuckle. Using both of his hands, he removed hers from his hair. He held her hands, palm side up and ran his hot tongue along the weblike veins on her wrist. Her pulse leapt in response. He then drew her hands behind her back and held them in his iron grip. Satisfied that Eleanor was firmly, but gently restrained, Charles continued his assault on her neck and the tops of her creamy breasts. Eleanor's breasts were thrust forward by her pinned arms, her nipples hardened points. Charles circled the turgid peak with the tip of his tongue. He kissed along the side and underneath, making the tip harder yet. Finally, he flicked the hard point with his tongue, before taking the entire nipple into his mouth. Eleanor moaned and swayed at the wholly erotic sensation. Alarmed that she may swoon, Charles released her pinned hands. She wrapped both around his head and shoulders, anchoring his burning mouth to her breast. Charles nipped and sucked at the hard peak. His fingers plucking the other, pinching and rolling the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. Eleanor was lost. She thrashed her head from side to side, moaning hoarsely.

Charles ran his hands down her ribcage, over her soft hips and down her smooth flanks. Bending slightly, his hand touched her upper calves as he drew on her skirt to raise the hem higher. His hands slipped beneath the loose skirt and began a slow ascent up her long legs. Charles caressed her trim calves and tickled behind her knees. He then continued his journey, first on the outside of her thighs, and then the tender insides. Her breath hitched when she felt his warm hands on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. 

Eleanor was in a fever. She removed her hands from around his neck and frantically tore at his shirt. He lifted it up and over his head, throwing it across the room. Her hands flew to the button fly of his tight fitting pants. Charles' fingers closed over hers before she loosened a single catch. Eleanor looked up at him with a look of desperation and brushed her knuckles along the long length of his erection. Charles inhaled sharply, his fingers closing tighter around hers. He drug her hands up and around his trim waist. He placed her open palms along each flank. Charles' hand was atop hers when he showed her what he wanted. Sliding her palms, she caressed his strong thighs to his rock hard buttocks. When he was confident she understood, he slide his hand back underneath her skirt and resumed his position near her apex. Charles could feel her scalding heat and knew that she would be wet. He toyed with her, lightly drawing his fingers near to the place she so desperately wanted him to go, only to retreat. Her own hands ceased to stroke his flanks and retreated to his neck. Charles' mouth was still at her breast, eagerly alternating from one stiff peak to the other. As if by some accident, Charles knuckles brushed against her most sensitive area. Eleanor almost shrieked in response. Strong fingers now teased her pouty netherlips, running his fingers along her crease. Shivering as if she were cold, Eleanor shifted her feet to allow him more access. Charles dipped one finger into her scalding heat, feeling her clench her sheath. Eleanor threw her head back with a long gasp, holding on to his neck. Charles probed her womanly passage, adding a second digit. He started probed inside her honeyed walls until he found her secret place. Eleanor's breath was coming in short pants. She was coming undone, she was sure she would die wanting to explode. Charles stopped feasting on her breasts and stole a dazzling kiss, distracting her. Without removing his fingers from her heat, he braced his free arm under her tempting backside, and lifted her off her feet. Walking just a few feet, he deposited his delightful package to perch on the edge of his desk. Breaking the kiss, he looked long into her fever bright eyes.

"Are you ready now, sweet Eleanor? Our pleasure has no equal, regardless of what you tell yourself. You can no longer live without me, nor I without you. I will no longer deny myself that what is mine We are bound to each other." With that, he removed his fingers, slick with her juices, and placed them in his mouth. Eleanor watched him with hungry eyes, too far consumed by passion to understand his declaration. He now considered that she was his and he was hers.Charles gently laid Eleanor on her back, sprawled across his large desk. He flipped her skirt up around her waist. Now completely bare to his hot gaze, Charles grasped her firm thighs and spread her legs wide. Her light pink crease was hot and very wet. Her tiny jewel peeking beneath its hood. Charles leaned down and blew on her mons. He caressed her with his tongue, finding the pearl hidden within. He replaced the two fingers and began a dance within her womb. Charles sucked hard on her clit and his fingers moved faster. Eleanor cried out his name and shattered into a million pieces. Wave upon wave of pleasure claimed her wits. Oblivion was achieved.

Charles watched the emotion play across Eleanor's flushed face. Her breathing was erratic and eyes tightly closed. He knew he would carry that vision until the day he died. He made quick work of the buttons of his tight breeches, and lowered them. His engorged muscle sprang free and jutted proudly. He leaned over her body and bent down to deliver a breathtaking kiss.

"Eleanor, I am going to die now," Charles rasped. Her alarmed eyes flew open at his cryptic words and then felt his full erection slide into her scalding heat. "I surely die a little every time I fuck you." Charles buried his cock to the hilt, withdrew almost completely, then thrust hard again. For long minutes he continued his assault, brutally kissing her lips. Eleanor had thought she would never be able to explode again so soon, but his overwhelming passion consumed her. He brought his hand up between their bodies and began to torment her pearl again. Her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper still. "Come with me, Eleanor!" Charles growled out as he buried himself within her and spilled his seed deep in her womb. Eleanor felt the burning heat paint her insides, and shattered again.

Eleanor shook with the strength of her orgasm. Her hands were buried within the  
vee between her legs. Only then did she notice the bath water had chilled and she was alone. Overwhelming sadness hit her.

She had it all and threw it away with both hands.

The dawn ushered in yet another cold, overcast morning. Eleanor was strangely calm as she watched misty gloom from the small window in her cell. Her small group of prison matrons milling about in the small cell, presumably to keep her calm and help her prepare for what lie ahead. Ironically, Eleanor found herself calming the others after yet another would give way to their emotions and blubber loudly. I will not weaken myself, Eleanor thought with disdain. I will not let them break me, no matter what it takes. The time for her games had run out.

Oddly, the large tub was brought back to her cell in the early hours. Eleanor washed again in the warm water. The water did not immediately foul as it had that evening, so she soaped her skin and washed her hair again. Linen was provided to dry her body and hair. The air was far too chilly to enjoy the the luxury of the bath for long. No fire blazed in the hearth, so the stone beneath her feet was cold. The matrons offered their assistance in helping her finish her toilette, but Eleanor refused.

Eleanor prepared to put the filthy dress back on only to discover it missing. She looked near the tub and the bench, certain she would smell the rags long before laying her eyes on them. A matron came forward with a small parcel and placed it in her hands. "Even the condemned have angels," she bleated Eleanor unwrapped the package and found a clean woolen dress of deep blue, complete with an underdress of soft, creamy linen. Her patron had even provided her with warm leggings, soft leather boots and a warm coat. A brush and comb completed the contents. She let out a startled gasp, wondering who would part with coin on a girl condemned of piracy.

The dress was a simple affair. Its cut was in the manner of a peasant girls' day dress. However, the soft, warm wool and deep color were luxuries no peasant father could afford. Undergarments, linen or otherwise, were rarely worn by the working poor. Yet, these were creamy linen. Warm leggings and soft leather boots were curious items. They both fit close to perfect as if she gave measurement herself. She donned them all, feeling a bit more like her previous self with clean hair and soft clothes. And warm, she finally felt warm.

Once dressed, Eleanor sat on the bench and combed her shiny hair. The waves were still damp when she created a single braid down her back. A few loose tendrils escaped their confines and curled around her face. She had no mirror, but she knew the blue of her costume deepened the blue of her eyes. Satisfied, she stood and went back to her window perch, nothing to do now but wait.

Eleanor had hoped to see day break with the sun shining. I do not believe that there is any sun overhead England at all, she mused. Grey days, grey inhabitants, grey food. It seems that London is as drab as a country can be. I am surprised that such colorful cloth exists here, she thought as she caressed the fabric of her skirt. Eleanor closed her eyes and pictured daybreak at home. She would awaken in her sunny bedroom, patio doors flung wide to allow sea breezes to sweep inside. A riot of color painted the landscape and inhabitants of New Providence Island. The land and sea both yielding objects of every color and hue. The land boasted fertile black soil, verdant green foliage and flowers in nearly every color. The fresh water pools and lagoons were a deep, cool blue. The sea a vibrant shade of aqua when calm. The color would deepen to jade during a storm, the wind whipping the water to tall curling waves topped with white foam. Sunsets were always glorious. Deep coral, pink, yellow and orange painted the otherwise blue sky. The inhabitants wore colorful cotton clothing and lived in pastel homes clustered on the hills or near the shore of fishing villages.

A commotion outside her prison window caught her eye. It appeared the time had come and her escort had assembled. Eleanor heard the gaoler talking in the hall with the captain of the guard. Giving one last lingering look, she stood up and started to turn around.

A strong grip grabbed her arms behind her in a viselike hold. Eleanor was outraged that a condemned prisoner would be treated in such a way, denying her dignity. The gaoler urged her to stand quietly, do not resist. He called out that it was nearly over and she should just cooperate. A strip of cloth was placed over her mouth and tied tightly behind her head. A leather hood was pulled over her head, blocking everything from her sight. Her hands were bound behind her back. She struggled fiercely, but was no match for her captors. Satisfied that Eleanor was completely bound, she was spun around and marched out of the room, flanked by stout militiamen.

Eleanor could hear the sobs of the gaolers wife and prison matrons. The rotund man shooed the hens away. The captain of the guard spoke, his tone clipped and brittle.

"Sir, we are here to escort the prisoner to her appointment as arranged. Has she disclosed any useful information since being placed in your care? Anything that may be of use to the crown in apprehending the pirates of New Providence Island?" 

"No sir, she ain't said nothin' 'bout them devils," he wheezed out.

"Then consider this a transfer from your custody to that of the Royal Navy. Please send her possessions in the cart we have provided for this purpose."

The gaoler furrowed his bushy brows. This was an unusual request. 

"Why you be wantin' her tub an' personals? She ain't gon' need 'em where she's goin'," squeaked the plump toad. The gaoler planned to sell everything he could when his young charge was swinging.

"The goods are not yours, sir. Where did you get coin enough to purchase such as this? I shall present the goods to the treasurer to be sold as recompense. Surely some money can be replaced in the coffers for housing Miss Guthrie. Unless you object, sir?"

"Take 'em and take 'er too." The jailer was not pleased to part with such a valuable haul. However, he didn't want the captain to investigate how the personals had appeared in the first place.

Eleanor bristled at the conversation. So much for his compassion. It had all been a ruse to obtain information of the goings on of the island and of the pirates that made port there. I would never tell you, filthy swine, Eleanor thought with disgust. 

With that, the strong arms ushered her down a hall, down a steep set of stairs and out to a waiting carriage. Hands grasped around her waist and handed her bodily up and through the carriage door. She was seated alone and turned sideways, presenting her bound arms. Her bindings were removed and a shackle was fastened around her slim wrist. The hood and gag stayed in place. 

"Let's be away, Sergeant. Miss Guthrie has an appointment she must keep or there will be the devil to pay." The officer sounded like polished brass. His voice as smooth as honey, somewhat calming to her frayed nerves. He was supremely in charge and she had no doubt that his orders would be carried out with haste.

Eleanor felt the lurch of the carriage as it started out. She nearly lost her balance on the seat and felt strong hands grasping her waist and hold her steady. The carriage horses were moving now at a brisk pace and the interior swayed. The captain moved Eleanor to recline on the bench before him, safe from the damage of falling.

Eleanor was still shrouded in the black leather hood. However, the jostling of the coach calmed her. The steady clip clop of horses' hooves the only sound she heard. The warm coat and boots warming her, Eleanor fell into a peaceful lull. The carriage ride was longer that was she expected. Surprisingly, she lightly dozed. Unable to sleep the previous evening and the strain of events of the day sapped the last of her reserves.

Eleanor had no idea how long she had slept, but the carriage was stopped when she was awakened by the low voices of many men and the captain of the guard. He was speaking to some other person, presumably the hangman.

"I have the prisoner, as agreed. She has shown great courage, no hysterics or weeping. She came quietly. I have also secured the goods, as instructed."

"Take the goods and store them quickly, we need to make haste. I want this business finished." The voice sounded familiar, oddly so. He spoke with authority, but not with the same brass as the captain.

"I will wake our guest and prepare her for exchange."

Eleanor heard the crunching of boot heels approach the coach. She struggled to sit up and present them a dignified picture before she heard the door open.

"We have arrived, Miss Guthrie. You shall be carried the remainder of the way. Nod if you understand."

Eleanor shook her head, upset that she was not able to walk to the hangman's noose. However, she was in no position to complain. Her wrist was unshackled. Firm hands grasped was around her waist and hoisted her out of the carriage. Once clear of the door, she was flung unceremoniously over the shoulder of the captain. Eleanor would have objected at such an intimate hold if she could. She was rapidly carried up what she guessed to be steps. Boot heels making a rapid staccato on wooden boards, she was briskly carried to the platform and placed on her feet.

Eleanor noticed how unsteady she was, the platform pitched and swayed like the rollicking carriage. It took some effort, but she finally found her footing. Her hands were no longer bound, and she grasped the detestable black leather hood and yanked it off her head. Eleanor threw it at her feet and was momentarily blinded. She tore the gag from her lips and tossed it to join the hood. Slowly, her vision was restored and she saw the shapes of men and the scene before her. The men were not in Navy regalia and her surroundings did not resemble a gallows. A man stood in front of her, but his image still blurred.

"I've come to collect what's owed, Eleanor."

 

Charles Vane. He was here. I am rescued, thought Eleanor, elated. He came for me, her heart filled. He saved me from the gallows.

"Charles, you came for me. I had hoped you would," her words coming in an excited rush. 

"Do you think I would let the hangman have what belongs to me," Charles growled out, his temper barely held in check. "Have you forgotten what was owed? Your life belongs to me," he added chillingly. 

She may have forgotten what was done, but he had not. Her debt was paid by the murder of her father, so she had thought. Eleanor recalled the pain she felt when his body had been found. However, Richard Guthrie was not a father to her and the sting of his betrayal was still sharp today. He would not be mourned by her. His loss had been her gain.

Eleanor's eyesight was rapidly returning. She was stunned to discover that she was standing on the planked deck of a brigantine flying English colors. They were tied to the dock of a busy town, boasting a natural, deep harbour. Eleanor guessed that this was a safe port known to pirates hunting these waters. She regarded the men busily at work as dictated by their captain. They were not well known to her, but fearsome none the less. They cast the occasional glance her way, but she was largely ignored. The deck was a hive of orderly activity.

A slight figure approached Eleanor from the bow of the ship. The figure approached with the stealth of a predator stalking its prey. Eleanor turned just as the wraith appeared. Anne Bonny. Of course she would be here, right along Charles. 

"Hello, cunt. Not so high an' migh'y now, eh?" Contempt dripped from her every word. Anne's face twisted into a loathsome grimace. Turning from Eleanor, she addressed the captain.

"She ready ta leave this shithole, captain. Orders?" Anne knew the anger in the captain and steered clear of his wrath. For once, she snapped to and did her duty without complaint or comment.

"Heave to and make way. Let's leave these hospitable shores behind us, eh," Charles quipped.

Quiet snickers rose from the men as they prepared to leave the dock and merry old England behind. Lines were cast off and the light canvas made ready to catch the slight breeze and get the sleek ship moving.

Charles walked briskly to Eleanor and forcefully grasped her forearm. She was flung into the slim arms of negro youth.

"Escort Miss Guthrie below and see she is made comfortable. It'll be awhile before I can attend her," Charles said jovially, voice brimming with dark humor.

The youth released Eleanor from his embrace, only to grasp her wrist and drag her to the cabins below. The narrow corridor was wide enough for one body to pass comfortably. Eleanor found herself dragged to the cabin at near the end of the passage. It was the room next to the captain's cabin. 

The door was open and she was drug in. The room was small, tiny in fact. A narrow bunk with drawers built under the thin mattress was along the outside wall. A small port window was closed above a writing desk and chair. This was the only furniture in the spartan cabin. However small the cabin was, it was very clean. The thin mattress and sheet were clean and smelled of the sea. The scarred wood floor had no dust or dirt. The window, closed and latched, filtered in the weak rays of the sun through a clean pane of glass. 

Eleanor sat on the bed and waited for her young escort to speak.

"The captain asks that you stay quietly until we are clear of these shores. We are in a dangerous place and the captain is busy keeping us safe. Do you understand me, Miss?"

The youth looked at her with expectant eyes.  
He was waiting patiently for her answer.

Eleanor railed at the boy, "I am no longer beholden to others for my safety. Let me out of this cabin. I am tired of playing the captive. I have been liberated, have I not?"

"No cunt, you ain't. You're the prisoner of a  
diff'rent master now. Best you make peace with that," spat a female voice. 

Anne Bonny stood outside the cabin, waiting to see if there would be trouble. She strolled into the cramped cabin and nodded to the youth. He scurried out the door and out of sight. Anne stared at Eleanor, hatred in her face.

D' you know what you did, cunt? What you did to 'im? Bet the noose woulda been kinder to ya' in the end. The captain has plans for you. I'd hate ta be in your place just now."

Anne stood guard before the door until the youth returned with a pair of slave manacles. The two sets of manacles were connected to a length of chain. They were intended to restrain both of her hands and feet. The length of chain was to be attached to a bolt in the floor.

"Hold out yer hands, or will I need to help ya, cunt."

The boy fastened the.wrist and ankle loops closed. The loose chain was locked to a bolt on the bunk.

"G'day ta you then, bitch. Enjoy your new cabin,"

With that, Anne strode out of the cabin with the young negro boy in her wake.

Eleanor slumped on the bunk. Surely it can't be as bad as all that, she thought miserably. Charles had saved her, surely he didn't plan to murder her himself? Eleanor remembered his cold gaze upon her when she first came aboard. Yes, he could kill me, Eleanor despaired. After all, he was collecting a debt, nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...in A Debt To Pay


End file.
